


De Brevitate Vitae

by seademons



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: A lot of kissing, Heartbreak, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Mental Instability, Pre- Ludendorff, Road Trips, and hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 12:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9896588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seademons/pseuds/seademons
Summary: “You look happy.” He spoke in a soft voice, his blue eyes glued on Trevor’s face, making his heart grow twice its shrivelled up size.“So do you.”“That’s because I am.”





	1. Memento Mori

**Author's Note:**

  * For [giraffeontherocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffeontherocks/gifts).
  * Inspired by [When Bad People Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295644) by [giraffeontherocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffeontherocks/pseuds/giraffeontherocks). 



> I have to admit something. giraffeontherocks made me absolutely lose my shit with her GTA fanfiction. I fell in love with it at first sight, and because I can never keep my hands occupied enough, I decided to write this. Let's call it a fanfiction of her fanfiction. It isn't necessary to have read her work to read this, but if you're looking for something that will surely blow you away, then do yourself a favor and read When Bad People Kiss. 
> 
> Did I say giraffeontherocks enough?

The whole thing had been suspicious from the start, the way that Michael had called him in the middle of the night, asking where he was, so they could hang out, so fucking late already, and he sounded desperate, which wasn’t entirely unlike him, yet not batting an eye when Trevor said that he was already drunk, tossed on the ground of some alleyway behind a biker’s bar, entirely like him. Michael picked him up anyway, without question, and took him to the most notoriously homosexual club of the city, something he would never, ever, be caught dead doing, which stirred curiosity in Trevor’s brain, however alcohol soaked it had been. During the ride, he dodged Trevor’s slurred interrogations about it, of course, and ignored his snark, and had Trevor been less drunk, more conscious, he would’ve gotten something out of Michael, some explanation, but since he was two beers short of vomiting already, all he did was take this strange choice in stride and enjoy the flamboyant neons and blinding lights of the club.

Michael ordered a series of double shots for them, knocking back Trevor’s as well without any resistance from him, because after one, he was more than good for the rest of the night, having the world spin and blur softly at the edges of his mind. Michael said a thing or two, maybe as an answer to something that Trevor had asked, or maybe it came from Michael’s own volition, he wasn’t very sure at all, but after Michael was done at the bar, he grabbed Trevor’s elbow and pulled him into the dance floor to be pushed up against scantily clad, beefy men dancing to the heavy beat pumping in his chest and reverberating in his skull and causing him to join in without much thought.

They danced close, but not together, so when Michael disappeared from beside him and some handsome stranger approached him instead, Trevor didn’t have the heart, or mind, to keep from dancing with him. Their hands soon were on each other, the man pulling Trevor close and Trevor responding in kind, kissing his collarbone, kissing his neck, slipping hands under the hem of the man’s shirt, even if it didn’t last long. They kissed, and when their lips touched, Trevor was jerked away from the man, head swimming and feet stumbling, nearly landing him on the grimy tiles that covered the ground, if not for the fist balled up on the back of his shirt keeping him on his feet, the very same that ripped him so rudely backwards. Michael appeared in front of his eyes, stepping between him and the beautiful stranger, his fist still holding Trevor in place, keeping him away from the man and closer to Michael’s side, as if he was coherent or interested enough to put up a fight over something, someone, so insignificant. He watched Michael shout at the guy, but wasn’t mentally there to register any of the words that seemed to piss him off, not needing to be fully conscious to know that if this continued, they’d both get kicked out, so he pushed Michael through the crowd and away from the pissed off man until they couldn’t see him anymore.

This wasn’t very unusual, Michael making a scene, especially when drunk, and Trevor wouldn’t waste a second of his life getting into it. Instead, he would enjoy the nice lighting and the loud music that made him too dizzy and enveloped to fully register his surroundings, and he’d share this moment with Michael. He wrapped both arms around him, easing the rhythm back into step and pulling Michael along, dancing with him, kissing _his_ neck, in front of dozens of people, a bold move, even for him, who generally respected Michael’s straight façade in public, but a bolder move was Michael choosing not to push him off, but pull him closer, with hands grabbing his waist. At the time, he didn’t think a thing of it, only kissed Michael’s neck, and jaw, and let Michael lock their mouths together, and reveled in the taste of his lips, the tequila on his tongue, and the touch of his hands, the cologne up his nose.

They kissed, and danced, and left the club in locked arms, but didn’t make it to a motel, because Michael pushed him into the backseat of a stolen car before they could, and took him right there, crushing him with his weight and the force of his lips. Trevor was too far gone to care, but not that sobriety would've made  a difference in that matter. He bruised Michael’s lips with his teeth in response to his kissing and locked both legs around his waist, squeezing him, grabbing him, trapping him in between his thighs until they should be done with each other. Michael groaned and sighed into his mouth, and he moaned on Michael’s tongue, digging his nails into the fabric of his friend’s coat as his feet knocked together like a pendulum on Michael’s ass from the snapping of his hips. His eyes were shut tight for the most of it, his mind engulfed in Michael’s scent, in Michael’s taste, in Michael’s touch, until he couldn’t hear himself anymore, and all that he knew was Michael Townley, and all that he had was Michael Townley.

He could feel his orgasm hot in the pit of his stomach, almost hitting, so close, drawing out embarrassing pleads from his throat and tensing his muscles, tightening his legs around Michael’s waist the more Michael pushed in, the more Michael constantly filled him to the brim. His back arched just as his eyes snapped open on their own, coming to meet with a pair of light blues, wide and clouded over with want. Michael rested their foreheads together, their eyes still transfixed on watching each other, and reached down between themselves to jerk Trevor off. It didn’t take three strokes for Michael to catch his cum.

They made it to a motel eventually, too early into the morning, and the moment Trevor crashed onto the mattress, the world turned black. Had he been awake for a second longer, he would’ve seen the gentle smile on Michael’s lips, too private for his own eyes, as Michael joined the empty spot next to him.

A handful of hours passed before Trevor’s hangover washed over him and rudely rose him from sleep, pushing him to get out of bed looking for a cigarette. He didn’t usually smoke, not cigarettes, that was Michael’s vice, but it somehow helped him with hangovers. It made no sense, it just was, and he was past trying to reason that. He took one from the pocket of Michael’s coat and left for the small balcony that overlooked the interstate to light it there, smoking it slowly, taking his time. He watched the cars zip past and imagined to be in one of them, with Michael at his side, driving across towns and entire states without a destination, only enjoying the present, _carpe diem,_ gather the rosebuds and all of that, ransacking and running and fucking without second thought. That had been their lives for a long time when they first met, over a decade ago, before Amanda and the children and everything that _that_ entailed. Before Michael became such a fucking hypocrite. Trevor butted out the cigarette and flicked it off the balcony, his headache not getting any better.

Over lunch, as if a physical manifestation of Trevor’s previous thoughts just that morning, Michael invited him to go down to Florida, just the two of them, to enjoy the beach, since he was so tired of the cold and the snow of Kentucky. They would take their time, as they usually did on the road when not particularly in a hurry, and would stop in every other city for food, gas, stick ups, sex, and, lastly, sleep, just like they had done so many times before. Trevor grinned, his hangover passing at once as they finished their eggs and left for the parking lot.

A 12-hour drive to Tampa took them a little over a week from how much they stopped, and stayed, and partied, and slept together. During that time, Michael’s behavior only became stranger, threatening to completely destroy the heterosexual image of himself that he so meticulously cared to keep intact whenever they were seen on the street side-by-side. In the car, Michael had a hard time keeping his eyes off of Trevor, a light smile displayed on his face and wandering hands that brushed the skin of Trevor’s fingers and behind his neck every now and then. It stirred up suspicion in him at first, that maybe Michael was just very horny and wanted to fuck every other turn, but when they actually stopped for that, then pulled back into the road, and Michael glanced at him not five minutes later, he knew that that wasn’t it, and that thought, perhaps, unnerved him the most. Because if Michael wasn’t leering, then what did his constant glancing mean? Trevor looked out his window and tried not to overthink it.

The tipping point was when, in the dead of night, as they walked from the parking lot to the motel room not sixty feet away, Michael reached over and took his hand. Just like that, as if it was so natural for them, as if Michael wasn’t painfully closeted and Trevor could only imagine this kind of normalcy from him in his dreams. Granted that the parking lot was deserted, and Michael only touched him in the dark, away from prying eyes, but it was still wide open, should anyone be watching from their windows, and Michael had never held his hand before, for any whatever reason, and especially not out of his own volition. Just _because_. Trevor looked at him, confused, but didn’t meet with his eye, and just laughed instead. He stopped on track, in the center of the lot, yanking Michael back by the hand and making Michael look at him, surprised. Trevor grinned.

“What’s the matter with you, M? Are you dying?”

The crease in Michael’s brow deepened with his confusion, but there was now a smile on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“The staring, the touching, the hand holding. What’s with you? Am _I_ dying?”

The color of Michael’s cheeks changed, became darker as he looked away, shaking his head. “Jesus, T, no. Don’t be stupid.”

He resumed the walk back to their room with Trevor in tow, stuck by the hand. Not that he minded it very much, or at all. Being publicly acknowledged as Michael’s boyfriend had always been a dream, despite how far-fetched and improbable it was, so all of this straightforwardness from Michael had actually been godsend, and long awaited. He didn’t understand, he really didn’t get it at all, but he wasn’t complaining. They walked together and Trevor couldn’t help but focus on the warmth shared between their palms, feeling entirely satisfied with it.

“Well, can you blame me? You’ve been acting like a normal person for three whole days when we both know that you’re anything but. I mean, if I leaned in for a cheek kiss right now, you might actually let me do it, and not flinch away like a fucking freak. You’re holding my _hand_ , Michael. Don’t tell me you’re suddenly a very romantic, passionate lover of a man instead of a monster. Which, you are, by the by.”

Michael sighed, running his free hand down his face the longer Trevor went on, then turned to look at him, brows knit, but not out of anger, out of frustration. Wishing for Trevor to shut the Hell up. “Can I just have some time out where we steal, and drink, and travel, pretending that there aren’t people who depend on me, and I don’t have to go back, and there are no responsibilities, just you and me and the world? I’m…” Michael sighed again, this time from something else, something heavier that seemed to weigh on him like an anchor. Something that made him look older than he really was. “I’m tired, T. I just want some goddamn vacations.” And Trevor could understand that. He really, truly could, and if it meant being passionate with Michael out in the open, well, that was only a perk.

“Do you ever wonder how things could’ve been?” Michael met with his eyes, wide like dinner plates. The question caused Trevor’s blood to cool down. He couldn’t form an answer, or push it past his lips, so Michael took that as a sign to elaborate. “You know, thinking back to when it was only the two of us on the job, and on the road, if I had never… If I hadn’t…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, couldn’t admit out loud that the life he had built for himself was a mistake, something Trevor had always known, and had warned him about since he first saw Amanda in that motel room. He knew, despite the lies that Michael told himself, and lived by, that Amanda wasn’t supposed to be, but hearing it from Michael, finally coming around, finally admitting it, even if not out loud, but to himself, was relieving. It was a battle that Trevor had given up fighting for a long time ago, but had won in the end.

“Yeah, I know. I do.” He thought about it, and mourned it, and seethed because of it more than he would ever let Michael know, because it affected him too much, and it hurt too much, and he couldn’t go a day without thinking back to Michael’s wedding, to when they almost ran away together, when he almost had Michael to himself, and they would hit the road, together, as they were meant to, as they had always done, but this time for real, and the shining bright hope in the blue of Michael’s eyes, the excitement, the freedom, just as they were about to do it, and _had they done it_ … Had Michael hit the gas pedal… He looked at Michael standing beside him now, ten years later, thinking the same thing, probably regretting not having sped away as they were meant to, and kissed him, in the middle of the parking lot, in some desolate city in the heart of Kentucky, trying to bring them back in time. Michael slipped his eyes shut and kissed him back in full before they held hands to their room.

The trip to Tampa was exactly what both of them had needed for a long time. The closer they got to it, the warmer it became, and the more rain they caught, almost making it a cleansing experience, if either of them deserved it. They had bought new clothes on the way, making a habit of shopping on the down low for the fun of it, even if it all started with Trevor’s jeans, but not to his fault. He hadn’t seen the punch coming. The unfortunate bastard that had insisted in picking a fight with him had managed to sneak a punch in while his back was turned, knuckles colliding with the side of his cheek and sending him reeling aside, straight to the floor. Normally, a fall like that wouldn’t rip a gash in his clothes, but those sturdy jeans could only take so many violent falls throughout the years. It ripped on the knee, not a very big hole, but after the man was left unconscious in the alley and Michael was done kicking his ribs, Trevor started picking at it. He pulled out a loose strand first, which undid a few more, so he plucked those out as well, and soon enough, before they hit the next city, half of his jeans was on the floor of the stolen Sedan and Michael was losing his mind over it. They stopped at the first clothing store that appeared in the horizon and bought him, not just one new pair of pants, but three, just in case, and just because they could. Michael ended up buying something for himself as well, a few new shirts and some aviators, as if he didn’t already have enough of those, and having more fun in the dressing rooms than strictly necessary. They made out more than actually tried anything on.

Too soon they had gathered more new clothes than their arms could carry, and had to buy each a bag. Michael wanted to go for a messenger, but at Trevor’s joke threatening his fake heterosexuality, he changed his mind and went for a duffel instead, sending Trevor into a laughing fit as he went right ahead and bought the messenger himself. Michael shot him a dirty look, but still kept to his second choice. They stuffed their bags with the clothes that had been haphazardly tossed onto the backseat all this time, uncaring whether or not they were actually packing up some of the other’s clothes instead, because after a week on the road, the lines blurred, and personal items became less and less personal. So Trevor didn’t care if he wore the shirt that Michael had tried on for himself at the last store, and Michael didn’t mind the dumb shirts with the girly prints that Trevor had bought days before that hugged his chest a little too tightly, but looked perfect in Trevor’s eyes. They shoved their pistols far down the bags and made a point to never leave them in the stolen cars.

Tampa was beautiful. The business buildings were gorgeously lit up at night, twinkling in the dark, and the coast was simply breathtaking, even while the moon was out, clouding the ocean over. Michael drove them to a hotel this time, one that overlooked the beach, only a couple of lanes from it, and booked a room. Trevor didn’t pay attention to how long they would stay, too busy looking around the lobby and the well dressed staff, and soon enough was led to their room by hand. It was impressive as well, almost too beautiful for two disgusting criminals like them, with soft and expensive quilts covering the bed and a flat screen television on the wall. He dropped his messenger bag on the floor and took off his boots first thing while Michael drew the curtains and opened the window. This place didn’t have a balcony, but the window was big enough to give them a good view of the bay. Michael could’ve jizzed himself right there from how excited he looked.

“Come on, let’s go to the beach.” He spoke fast, dropping the duffel on the floor and taking Trevor by the arm. Luckily for him, he had managed to change from his new, sturdy pants to a pair of shorts while Michael was dazzled by the ocean, and so followed his friend out the door barefoot.

The sidewalk stones were warm on the soles of his feet and the sand felt even better sinking through his toes, but nothing could beat the saltwater up to his ankles. It was warm still, probably from the warm weather that they were having, that Florida always had, which allowed nice, warm nights as well, with breezes to ruffle their hair. Trevor unlaced their hands and walked right into the ocean, sitting down by the shallow waters so he wouldn’t stray too far from Michael, still on the shore, watching him with a smile. Michael sat down on the dry sand closest to him, but not about to get wet, his smile only bested by Trevor’s grin.

“You look happy.” He spoke in a soft voice, his blue eyes glued on Trevor’s face, making his heart grow twice its shrivelled up size.

“So do you.”

“That’s because I am.”

This was a first for Michael. Sure, Trevor had seen him in absolute hysterics after a score, laughing aloud like a maniac holding thousands of dollars in a hand, snorting blow and drowning himself in alcohol, but he had never seen Michael content. He had never seen Michael happy, the kind of happy that was soft and comforting and whispered that everything was alright, that everything was as it should be, and it was the best version of itself. It was weird, very strange to see Michael so passively okay with life, but it made him wonder, had Michael never fallen in love with a stripper, would they always have been okay like this? Would Michael have led a _happy_ life? Because that was what they were doing, playing pretend for a week or two, that Amanda didn’t exist, and they were solely each other’s, and Michael looked to be finally happy. Maybe it was temporary, maybe he was too scared to fully, truly commit to Trevor, but this was something of a trial for him to taste life with Trevor loyally by his side, without fear of losing each other to the world, and Trevor liked what he saw, the contentment from Michael, at peace. Maybe, just maybe, this would change Michael’s mind about staying with Amanda. Trevor knew that it wouldn’t, that Michael would go back to her sooner or later, and greet the kids, and play the absent father some more, until he got too fed up or too restless or too tired to keep going, and would crawl right back to Trevor for a trip and hard sex and the thrill of the chase. Trevor only wished that he didn’t care so much.

In the following morning, he woke up to the sing-song sound of Michael’s voice, telling him to pack up because he had found them a better place to stay. The _perfect_ place to stay. Trevor couldn’t possibly imagine what would be better, to Michael’s standards, than a fancy ass hotel room, since this had Michael written all over, but he didn’t question a thing and only followed Michael out to the parking lot, possibly on the way to an even more expensive hotel suite. It wasn’t his style, the whole upscale, first class living. It was really a fraud that they played on themselves, pretending that they were better than two murdering, thieving bastards who deserved dirty motel rooms by the highway and twenty-five cent breakfast from the vending machine outside, but Michael loved to pretend, and loved the whole play, so Trevor went along, for now, too sleep-mussed to care yet. He could barely keep his eyes open for the ride, although it was a short one, and soon enough Michael had killed the engine and was jumping out to reach the lot.

It was a house. Not a five-star hotel, or even an upscale house, just a regular house at first glance. Big, though, very wide and standing at two floors, overlooking the ocean from the back, and the quiet street from the front. Michael had parked on the driveway and gone up ahead to unlock the front door for the two of them, even if Trevor wasn’t following. He stayed in the car for a second too long, shocked and confused, trying to understand the sudden change, and if Michael had honest to God actually _bought_ the fucking place. He was baffled, and more than just a little suspicious, but got out of the car anyway, and carried both of their bags inside, dropping them in the foyer just by the door. Michael was nowhere in sight, but his footfalls echoed from upstairs as he hurried about through his excitement. Trevor didn’t pay him much mind, only closed the door behind himself and began to explore the bottom floor on his own, getting a feel for all of this. From the rather simple furniture and the retro decor, he could tell that this place wasn’t Michael’s. At all. He had either murdered the family that lived here or rented their real estate. Trevor wouldn’t be surprised if he walked outside to the beach and found five bodies stacked by the back door. All in all, though, it looked alright. The rooms were big, usually open-paneled, with more arches than doors and minimal furniture. He kind of liked it.

Michael met with him at the top of the stairs and told him about how he had seen this place for lease on the way to the hotel last night, and it made him realize that they didn’t know just how long they would be staying in town for, and how they had never shared a place together, only the two of them, so renting seemed like a good idea. Trevor just nodded, following the logical progression of his mind, and finding it to be alright, not too fucking crazy, and definitely better than a high class hotel. He walked past Michael further into the top level and took a peek into the two bedrooms and one study, two of which shared a single, long balcony that overlooked the ocean. He walked out there, listening for Michael’s footsteps right behind him, and leaned onto the railing, looking out at the glistening blue of the sea. There were a garden table and two chairs out here for that purpose alone, from how beautiful it was. Michael mirrored him on the railing, and the look on his face at the sight of the beach was more of that soft contentment that Trevor had seen, directed at him, the night before. He decided that he liked this house.

“So you drove all the way down to Florida to play fucking house with me? What’s this, Michael, an early midlife crisis?” Trevor snorted out a laugh, his eyes trained on Michael’s face, watching it give out a pained smile that refused to meet him. It almost made him regret his choice of words.

“Well, T, what am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever the Hell you want.”

“I mean in the grand scheme of things.”

Trevor sighed. This was Michael, the guy who had everything, but didn’t know what he wanted from the world, didn’t know what to do with his life unless somebody spelled it out for him. The guy who cared too much about what other people thought of him, and what other people said, and what he was _supposed_ to be doing instead of what he wanted to do. The guy who let his life be dictated by strangers. He still wouldn’t meet Trevor’s eye, but that didn’t stop him from staring hard at the side of Michael’s face offered to him.

“There is no grand scheme of things, Michael. There is today, but who knows if there will be tomorrow? If everything that you do is reserved for a better tomorrow, or to build a future, or to make a difference, then you’re wasting your damn time, because tomorrow might never come, and the future doesn’t exist. You’re not living, you’re just wishing that you were. Don’t you see it? There is no purpose to anything. There’s only right now and what you decide to do with it. If you don’t do whatever you fucking want, you’re postponing happiness indefinitely. You’ll never live it. People don’t care who the fuck you are, or what you’re doing with your life. You should be the only one caring about yourself.”

The look on Michael’s face was of pure, unadulterated annoyance. He had heard this speech before, from Trevor himself, and more than just once, but still chose to ignore everything and continue to let society norms hijack every aspect of his life that he wasn’t passionate enough to keep under control. If he wasn’t such an addict for danger and outrunning, outsmarting the police, Godforbid, he might have ended up as an accountant, locked up in an office, going out on Saturday afternoons for play dates with his children. The thought made Trevor sick.

“You’re wrong, T. There _is_ a purpose. We’re here to leave a legacy behind, we’re here to get ourselves known, to pass something down, to be remembered in the annals of human history. We’re here for _something_. If we don’t build anything, then what are we leaving behind? What will we be remembered by? Who we are will be lost forever.”

“Who cares, Mikey? We’ll be dead. It won’t make a difference if we die like heroes or dirty criminals. You’re a bank robber, for fuck’s sake, don’t play the good guy.”

Michael shook his head, pushing himself away from the railing and turning around to go back inside, but not quite. Not yet. He pointed a finger at Trevor, finally meeting with his eyes. “You don’t have people depending on you, who will outlive you and remember you after you’re gone. You don’t know what it’s like to worry about what they think of you, and if what you’re doing is good enough to raise them into decent people. I don’t want them to become like us, T.” The accusing hand dropped back, resting on Michael’s chest instead, indicating himself. He stepped closer as well, lowering his voice just a tad bit for emphasis, his brows knit out of sincerity. “I want them to be good, faithful, loyal people who contribute to the world, but how can I raise children like that with the example that I give? It’s… I care, T. I care to leave something good behind so that they’ll mirror themselves after it.”

Trevor watched him, the raw concern in the lines of his forehead as he looked out at the ocean once again, glistening just before them and making the blue of his eyes that much deeper. Trevor lowered his own voice, a crease now in his brow.

“You’re a good father, Michael.”

Michael snorted, smiling joylessly at the horizon and making the frown on Trevor’s face worsen. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. You’re not the most present, but you care about your kids, and they love you, M. I think you’re doing alright. Hell, you’re doing a whole of a lot better than both of our fathers combined.”

That actually got Michael laughing, however dry and tight-lipped it sounded. It seemed to loosen him up anyway.

“God, if I ever drop that low, you’re obligated to shoot me. There’s no excuse.”

Trevor grinned. “Will do, my friend.”

It was an unspoken, albeit mutual, agreement that the bedroom connected to the balcony was the adopted one for the two of them, and after a day or two, the study became the heist planning room. Before leaving town for good, they would hit up one of its banks, which didn’t have too sturdy security but still required careful planning, since one wrong move could easily get them killed. So Michael bought a corkboard and some pins and soon enough they had it filled up with crucial information and different ideas as to how they would approach the heist. Trevor voted for the most fun, and more dangerous, route while Michael, the softie, turned to the safest. They didn’t have to agree on a method right away, though, because it wouldn’t be executed so soon.

Most of their time was spent swimming in the ocean, basking in sunlight and exploring town, either on foot or by car, but almost always hand-in-hand, to the point that it became second nature reaching for each other. They would take the other’s hand in the middle of the street without second thought, uncaring of the world watching, and in fact not even actively noticing themselves do it. They did get called out, of course, and more than once, but overtime, Michael’s endurance toward homophobic slur grew, and he didn’t snap at it anymore, only became increasingly annoyed, squeezing Trevor’s hand tighter to keep himself from driving his fist through someone’s face. That didn’t mean that he was quiet about it. He, more than anyone, shouted back right alongside Trevor, usually scaring off whoever was trying to pick a fight with them by mere intimidation. It wasn’t pretty, but it was effective, and it filled Trevor’s chest with what could only be pride to have Michael come around so well. He wasn’t out, but he wasn’t trying to hide much of anything, either, for the time being.

When night fell, they would usually go out to party or stay in for drugs and sex, more holed up in their room than anywhere else in that house. It was still nice to have it, though. All of those rooms downstairs made for different backgrounds to get fucked in, different tables to get bent over and different couches where to suck Michael off. The kitchen was the second most frequented, not only for the stove but also because it led to the back porch and the private beach. They spent a long time on the sand under the shade of the balcony, doing nothing but drinking, watching the sky and talking shit. Michael was proficient at the latter, always coming up with great commentary about unimportant bullshit that made the two of them snort beer out their noses. He wasn’t usually funny, he was actually widely known for _not_ being funny, but after two joints and a pack of beer, he became hilarious, and Trevor was glad to have him by his side. Not only then, but pretty much always. He knocked back the rest of his beer and stuffed the empty bottle halfway into the sand beside himself. For the past few days, he had been building something of a monument with how many bottles were buried at this point. Michael had his half-finished one touching his lips, the bottom resting on his chest and the neck held loosely by a hand, as his free one traced fingertips on the skin of Trevor’s very own.

“When did you get these?” Michael slurred a word or two, touching the ink on Trevor’s fingers that neatly spelled out _fuck you_ every time he made for a punch. Trevor outstretched them to look at the tattoos.

“It’s been a minute. Maybe two New Years ago.”

Michael laughed. “Two New Years?”

“Yep. Do you want me to say two Christmases?”

“Maybe two _years_ , like a normal person. But I think… I want to get something, too.”

“Do it.”

Michael took another swig of his beer, humming negatively in response, eyes still cast down at Trevor’s hand. He examined the tattoo as best as his drunk brain would allow, which was to say airily at most, and slipped his fingers between Trevor’s, lacing them together. “No, I don’t know what it’d be.”

“Huh, hm. How about... A rose on your neck? A really dumb one.”

“God, on the neck?” Michael scrunched his nose up at Trevor, and the look of distaste on his face heavily catered to Trevor’s drunken humor, making him laugh heartily and pull Michael along for the ride, too drunk to really keep a straight face. He laughed and finished off his beer, unlacing their hands to run a palm across the low of Trevor’s stomach, just under his navel. That sparked Trevor’s interest immediately. “I’ll do it if you get something here.” There was a sensual tone to his voice too well known to Trevor, that always managed to get his heart speeding. It also didn’t help that Michael was pressing his warm palm flat on Trevor’s stomach, slipping his fingertips under the waistband of the shorts, running them along the front.

“What, so you can cum all over it? I don’t think that’s money well spent, M.”

Michael shrugged and grabbed himself another beer. “I think it is.” He sat up for this one, pushing on Trevor’s stomach for leverage, but not too hard, and missing the eye roll that it got in response. Since it was the last bottle of the pack, they shared, trading off on every other swig. Michael’s eyes were glued onto the ocean for the most of it, his mind definitely drifting out to far away, to his inner demons, to the reason that pushed him to escape Kentucky so fast, and for who knew how long. He exhaled deeply before finishing off the bottle and casting it aside. Only then did Trevor dare interrupt his obvious reverie.

“Take a swim with me?”

He met with Michael’s bright blues, bluer than the ocean and silkier than the sky, not expecting Michael to lean over and kiss his mouth, but not against it when he did. He could feel Michael’s smile on his own lips, as warm as the breeze, before he pulled away.

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, if you actually get the rose on Michael's neck, the tattoo is called The Rose Of My Heart.


	2. Sweet Dreams

It was all too perfect, too dangerously perfect, too dreadfully perfect. The perfect life of crime and passion and traveling, set on the foreground of a beach, sharing kisses during the sunset and casting heart-shaped shadows behind the two of them. Trevor started to dread its end. All he had ever wanted was for their whole lives to be like this, just the two of them, in love or pretending to be, partners in crime and brothers in arms, but it had to come to an end at some point. Michael wouldn’t be here forever. Michael would go back home to his family, and spend the holidays with them, and drink from World’s Best Dad mugs and wear ugly Christmas sweaters that match with his wife’s and forget about Trevor for months until their next job together, when Lester would call them up and reunite them and make Michael’s eyes meet Trevor’s again, if only for another few days. It was painful, it was destructive, and yet Trevor lived for it, for those hidden kisses in the shadows and the passionate motel nights under high heat. Knowing that this moment was finite did no wonders to keep him from panicking. When the bank heist was rounded out and ready to go, he knew that they were finished. He knew that this had been it.

And it had been a good one, too good, far too good. He hadn’t deserved it, he had never been good enough to deserve any of it, he hadn’t been good enough to deserve a man like Michael, but nothing was ever lost on him, and he grabbed onto these two weeks with all of his might, afraid to let go. Afraid to see it all crumble back to how things were before. Unofficial, hidden, closeted, wrong. That was why, when they kissed before packing up, his heart didn’t swell twice its size. It really only felt like breaking apart instead.

The heist was a success. It was swift and professional and they were out of Tampa within the hour. Michael was glowing, ecstatic behind the wheel, turning up the radio to whatever song was playing only so he could jump to it. Trevor grinned, his chest soaked in affection for this dumb man swerving through lanes, but the poison slowly killing their time together kept him numb from the excitement. He projected only what he remembered of it, trying to steer clear from thoughts of their imminent dismantling, approaching so quickly now, but not doing a very thorough job of it, and soon enough he had his face turned to the passenger window only so Michael would be shielded from his frown. His eyes didn’t spill a tear, but his chest felt heavy and stuffed with rocks. Keeping Michael beside him was a losing battle, and a storm that he would rather drown in than run from.

“I think it’s fair to say we’re the best in this line of business.” Michael commented absently, in the motel room, as his hands flipped dollar bills and his eyes counted them, transfixed by avarice, nearly shining green. Trevor only hummed in response, already halfway drunk on the bed beside him.

“The most wanted man in America would be.” He slurred from behind the bottle, spilling more beer on the mattress than down his throat. Michael laughed, not watching him.

“Yeah, but I don’t work alone. Won’t you double check your share?”

Michael picked up his duffel and stashed his bills carefully inside as Trevor shot him a look that went by unnoticed, so he sat up to catch Michael’s eye, uncaring about how that made the spilled beer on his neck uncomfortably trickle down the inside of his shirt.

“Since when do we double check from each other, Michael?”

Michael shrugged. “Since we can’t trust anyone. I could be stealing from you as we speak.”

“Oh, fuck off. You’ve never done that in all of the time we’ve worked together, and if you had, I would’ve strangled you with your shirt collar long ago.”

Trevor burped through the last of his words and finished off another beer, rounding the number of currently owned packs to zero. Michael didn’t seem to mind that, too busy laughing and flipping bills to let anything ruin his enjoyment, even the lack of alcohol or blow. He never seemed to care for much right after a score, only the thousands in his hands and the grin on his lips, but when those two things weren’t news anymore, he got off his fat ass and partied, and snorted, and fucked until sunrise. Judging from the amount of bills in his lap and the amount in the bag, he still had a ways to go, so Trevor laid back down on his side of the mattress and got comfortable, as much as sleeping under spilled beer would allow him to. Surprisingly, it didn’t take him long to fall unconscious. Michael’s reassuring presence might’ve played a big part on that.

He woke up not too much later to the smell of tobacco and dried beer. The window was open, allowing in a gentle Floridian breeze as Michael stood by it with a cigarette between his fingers and his eyes out at the night sky. The overhead light of the room had been turned off, but the street lamps outside lit up enough of Michael’s face for Trevor to see that the excitement from earlier had been completely wiped out and replaced by something just short of sorrow. Michael knew, too, that his vacations were coming to an end. Trevor wondered if Michael dreaded that as much as he did, or if he only thought of it as a mild inconvenience during his time out of being an exemplary role model, husband and father. He rolled out of bed and crossed the room over to Michael, his socked feet quiet on the carpet despite how heavy his body felt. His hand found the small of Michael’s back as he approached him under the yellow light. Michael blew smoke out the window before looking over at him.

“Do you wanna go out, T?” His voice was a raspy whisper, as if afraid to stir the silence too much and wake the night. Trevor shook his head, disinterested, so Michael went back to nursing his cigarette.

“When are we going back?”

The ultimate question had been in the back of his mind and on the tip of his tongue all night since they fled Tampa, the reason of his restless sleep and overall sinking feeling. He didn’t actually want to know the answer as much as he badly needed to. Michael sighed out a long stream of smoke through his nostrils, then tossed the cigarette out the window, not meeting Trevor’s eyes.

“By morning.”

Dry was his tone and dry was Trevor’s mouth, his tongue like cotton and Michael’s blues razor sharp, but not at him, not yet at him, out the window. Out at the world. He leaned both forearms on the windowsill and let his body language do the talking, say the words that he couldn’t get past his lips. The crease in his brow screamed anger but the slouch of his shoulders gave into fatigue. Maybe he was done running away, tired of pretending, avoiding the unavoidable. Trevor leaned closer and kissed the top of his head, in mourning, in parting, prolonging the inevitable. He then turned around and walked back over to the bed, stripping down to nothing. His body felt too heavy. Maybe not physically, maybe what he really needed was a deep spiritual journey, but he didn’t have a creed for that, and a shower in some grimy motel room was the closest that he would ever get to any sort of cleansing.

He knew that Michael would follow, because of course Michael would follow, and despite the burning ache in his chest that reverberated through his every limb, making it hard to breathe and too foggy to think, he found that he didn’t mind the kissing, Michael’s soft lips along his jaw and pressed down his neck. Michael’s firm hands on his waist and Michael’s broad chest against his own. He didn’t mind it, and part of him rather expected this, not exactly looking forward to it, but greeting it with open arms either way.

Back in bed, with the beer-stained blanket ripped off and thrown to the floor, he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, and turned, and turned, until Michael’s soft scent was too much, and his thoughts were too loud, and his fists threatened to tear the linen right open, rendering him unable to rest. He sat up, both hands covering his face and lungs working double-time for literally no reason other than to speed his heart up and make this whole thing far more uncomfortable than it needed to be. For a second, he couldn’t breathe, which was ironic from how hard his chest rose and fell, but it seemed as if for naught, and his vision blurred, and went black, and came back, all in under a second, scaring the shit out of him. He turned over to Michael’s sleeping form, afraid and panicking, but only looking at him turned the knot in his stomach that much tighter and stopped him from shaking Michael awake. Instead, Trevor did the next best thing, and put on some shorts before leaving the room for the nearest convenience store.

The beer wasn’t great, but it wasn’t piss, either, which was just about enough for him to keep drinking it. He crossed the street and sat down on the curb with the pack beside himself and both legs stretched out onto the asphalt, his naked feet warm despite the night sky and his naked chest numb from the alcohol. He had one, two, three bottles in absolute silence, without a single car rolling down the street on the meanwhile, and generally no movement other than the flickering glow of the 7-Eleven logo across from him, casting an orange tint to half of the pavement. His mind, in short, was nowhere. Nowhere but everywhere, on this empty street, on the dull lights coming from the store, on the warm Floridian breeze, but nowhere near Michael. He had another bottle in the quiet and the solitude, drawing a blank and thinking of nothing. Allowing nothing to enter his mind, only leave it. Michael could leave it. Michael _should_ leave it. Wouldn’t his life be much better if Michael just up and _left_?

His heart plummeted.

Michael leaving, leaving for good? Owning up to his loving husband bullshit full time? Well, it would probably kill him, but wouldn’t that allow Trevor to finally get a headstart in his drug trafficking business and focus on himself, his own goals, his own growth? Michael only held him back, pushed him around willy-nilly, conveniently dragged him into his early midlife crisis road trips when things got too much and he needed to escape again. That was what Michael did, he ran, and he escaped, not only from the police, but from life, from himself, from Amanda, from Trevor. He wasn’t adding anything to Trevor’s life by being in it. He didn’t even let Trevor have other people, and Trevor couldn’t have him, either. Not fully, not completely, but once every couple of months, or multiple times during a job, during a trip, but it wasn’t steady. It wasn’t sure. It only left him worse than the last Michael had seen of him, and yet… Yet.

Trevor sighed, his fists so tight that his nails began to hurt his palms. Yet Michael was everything. Michael made him feel _alive_. Michael knocked the wind out of him with a look and stole the words from his mouth with a smile. Michael pulled him under his wing in the Canadian border, all of those years ago, and turned his life around, really believed in him, in his potential, and Trevor had delivered. Maybe his delivery got out of hand at times, and his mind slipped and his body bathed in blood, but it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t _all_ him, there just wasn’t something _right_ about him and Michael got that, Michael understood and Michael dealt with it and Michael helped him. Michael had been beside him always, just as he would always be beside Michael. Michael would never leave him. He just wouldn’t, he _couldn’t_.

Trevor would literally murder him if he ever tried to.

He suddenly didn’t feel like finishing the rest of the beer, or really this pack, and his hands were itching for something to destroy, something to hurt, so he hurled the half-empty bottle in his grip to the ground, too close to his leg, but not that he cared, not that he even noticed. The glass shattered and foam spread everywhere, but it wasn’t enough, not until the rest of the pack had joined it. Glass shards hit the asphalt one after the other and beer highlighted the tar all around him with each new destroyed bottle, his ankles too close to this, being hit by debris, but not bad, not at all, just a cut or two that made more of a mess than they ought to have. They stung, but Trevor didn’t really care. He got up and kicked the bigger shards further into the street before leaving back to tonight’s shitty motel, lucky that his soles didn’t get a scratch on them.

The walk over didn’t do a thing to even out his temper, and he slammed the motel door closed behind himself upon arrival, completely engulfed in his own head to remember that Michael had been sleeping there. His friend shot up at the loud noise, blue eyes wide in the soft light of the street that sneaked in through the window. Trevor barely even felt bad.

“Fuck, T, what the fuck?” Michael breathed out in short puffs, bringing a hand to his own chest as if it would physically stop his heart from speeding. Trevor grinned wickedly in the dark, turning the key in the lock.

“Did I wake you?”

He laughed at the look that Michael gave him in response, a well-blended mixture of tired annoyance, and walked to the bed. Once within range, Michael shoved him on the shoulder.

“You nearly killed me, you fucking asshole. Where the fuck were you?”

Trevor shrugged, offering him nothing verbal, and laid down on his side with his back to Michael, although he could still feel the icy stare on the back of his head, chilling down his spine. He hugged himself and shifted around to get comfortable. The mattress dipped with Michael’s moving weight behind him, making him flinch.

“Don’t fucking spoon me or I swear to God I’ll rip your arms off.”

There was a noticeable snarl to his speech, not entirely on purpose but there regardless, which had never scared or threatened Michael in the slightest or gotten any real response from him. This time was no different, and Michael only scoffed in the half-light.

“I ain’t trying to.” His tone was neutral, holding none of the anger from a minute ago, and had he been lying or not, Trevor found himself not caring enough to find out. He only shut his eyes closed, trying to force his mind into an out-of-body experience, so maybe he could forget Michael Townley for a few hours and enjoy nirvana.

It almost worked, it was so close to working, he was just about slipping into unconsciousness when Michael’s hand rested on his elbow, very lightly, warming his skin and making him jump out of it. He hopped off the bed and turned around, alarmed, heart hammering its way through his ribcage but never making a successful escape. His wide eyes met Michael’s very own, perhaps even wider than his, taken aback from Trevor’s sudden freak out. Michael put his palms up in surrender before Trevor even did anything. It enraged him.

“Don’t _touch_ me.”

Anger boiled in his veins with every word, more spat out than spoken, as he made his way back over to the door. Michael called for him, but he didn’t look back, and unlocked the door anyway, swinging it open with more force than necessary.

“T, where are you going?”

“Away from you.”

He could hear Michael’s feet hit the ground and rush over to him despite his own words, but he was already out of the room and onto the balcony and minding his own business to care whether or not Michael came after him. Closing the door would’ve been good for nothing, so he didn’t, and just stormed over to the closest stairway leading down. Michael’s footfalls quickened and his hands met with Trevor’s arm halfway down the stairs, pulling him back, gripping his skin tight. He jerked his arm away upon contact, but Michael was more resolute to hold onto him than he was to get away, so the grip wasn’t broken. They tripped and stumbled clumsily on the steps, Trevor tugging his arm away and shouting for Michael to let go, and Michael’s grip only getting firmer as he loudly argued back in the dead of night. They struggled and pushed and shoved until Trevor finally managed to pull himself free, immediately tripping and falling down the rest of the stairs. Michael tried to catch him, and he did grab Trevor’s forearm, but his other hand slipped from the railing and sent him crashing down as well, onto Trevor, making him hit the sidewalk hard on his back. The wind got knocked straight out of him from Michael’s tumbling weight, and it felt as if a chunk of his back got scraped out. For as much as he just wanted to collapse unconscious on the ground, he just didn’t deserve it. He had to live through it.

Michael got back up onto his feet in a second and offered a hand to help Trevor up, airily asking him if he was alright. He really wished that he was, only so that he didn’t _need_ to take Michael’s hand, but of course he did, and got pulled up with little effort from Michael’s part. His back was on fire and his stomach felt punched in, but other than that, and the fact that he felt fatefully chained down to this asshole, Trevor was just peachy. He spat a harsh no in Michael’s face and pulled his hand free, glad that Michael hadn’t decided to hold onto that, too, and caused the beginnings of a war.

“Fucking Hell, T, what’s all this for?” Michael sounded hurt more than anything, as if he had the right to, as if he wasn’t the one going back home at dawn to see his loving family. Trevor almost wanted to laugh, but his stomach ached too much for that, so he ended up scoffing instead, grinning wide like a maniac. He felt absolutely wretched inside.

“Gee, M, I don’t know, maybe, maybe I’m just fucking crazy, huh, have you considered that? Have you considered that, Mikey? Maybe I’m just insane. A menace! A lunatic! Deranged! Everyone’s been warning you about that for _years_ , Michael, why haven’t you listened? You’re a goddamn idiot. And you’re a piece of shit, too. Don’t _fucking_ touch me! You don’t get to play the kicked fucking puppy! I _know_ what you’re about, and it’s disgusting, Mike. How can you live with yourself? How can you, how can you go _back_ to her after something like this, after, after everything, and not feel any remorse? You know, maybe, maybe, m-maybe _I’m_ not the psychopath, you know, maybe that’s you. Maybe you’re just really fucking good at hiding.”

He was shaking. His hands were shaking, but didn’t stop when he closed them in fists, and that plus his rising anger didn’t scare Michael at all, it never had. Michael was the only person, perhaps in the whole wide world, that didn’t fear him, despite his fucked up head, and his bad temper, and his mood swings, and his overall emotional instability. Where any sane person would be pissing themselves where they stood, Michael, well, Michael just fucking rolled his eyes.

“You’re talking bullshit, Trevor. Can you even hear yourself? You’re not making any sense.”

“Yes, Mikey, that’s _exactly_ what I mean! I never get anything through to you. I could be reciting the, the _Bible_ , or the Ten Commandments, or, fucking, _common sense_ , where it says you can’t cheat on your fucking wife, and you still wouldn’t know what I’m talking about. You, Michael, are a man of selective hearing. Either that or a straight up idiot because, because you _think_ you can go back to her on the flip of a coin, you think you can come back to _me_ on the flip of a coin, and we’ll take you in, and we’ll get you off, and we’ll pretend that you’re really fucking great, that you’re some prince charming, that you’re fucking perfect, but guess what? Guess what? You’re not. You’re none of that. You make me miserable, you make _her_ miserable, and if you dropped dead tomorrow, I’d waste a bullet on your head just to make sure you didn't get up.”

Michael scoffed. “No, you wouldn’t. And don’t talk about Amanda as if you fucking know her. I trained you, Trevor. I coached you on everything that turned you into the great fucking bank robber that you are today. We… Have… A connection. If it hadn’t been for me, who would you have become? A mass murderer? A serial killer? A petty drug dealer? I made you a millionaire. I turned you into _somebody_. Isn’t that what you wanted? To be somebody, to have people who care for you, to be a part of something? I would’ve taken a bullet for you if that biker hadn’t missed, T. What else do you want from me?”

“Don’t… Ever… Talk about that. Don’t ever even mention that. That was, that was so fucking, it was so _dumb_ , it was so _dumb_ , Michael. I never want to get reminded of it again.”

He felt sick. That messy stick up, so many years ago, when he almost lost Michael because of his own idiocy, his own inability to do things right, when Michael’s blood would’ve been splattered all over his face, it still made him sick to his stomach, it still made his legs weak. He never thought about it, he made a point to never think about it. He had been so shaken afterwards, both of them had been, pale and scared, despite Michael trying to make light of it with off-tone jokes that didn’t land, and didn’t stick, and went right over Trevor’s head because he was too petrified to laugh. The kiss had been grounding, and reassuring, but it didn’t change the fact that Michael had treaded too close. He stumbled backwards, suddenly queasy, his hand finding the railing for support just in time. Michael frowned, and stepped closer, but stopped himself, probably reminded of all the times that Trevor had shouted for him to stay away tonight.

“Let’s get back inside, T. You don’t look so good.”

“I’m bleeding _out_ , Michael, how the fuck should I look like?”

“You are?”

All previous warnings aside, Michael crossed over to him, stepping round to glance at his back. He didn’t feel blood trickling down, in fact, he was _sure_ that he wasn’t bleeding out, but it was a working excuse that got Michael all worried anyway and too preoccupied to bring up the biker again, so he’d go with it. Michael grabbed his elbow and turned him a little for a better view. The touch burned right through his skin.

“You ain’t bleeding out, Trev, it’s just a scratch. Granted it’s a big one, but you’ll live. Unfortunately.” He scoffed out a cheeky laugh, coming back around to look at Trevor but only being greeted to one side of his face as he rolled his eyes.

“Fuck you.”

Up in their room, Michael patched him up, completely overlooking his ankles and him, himself, forgetting about them until they both laid down and the linen touched the tender skin. It was uncomfortable, but nothing that he couldn’t live through. He had felt much worse before, and being beside Michael was one example, yet here he was still, despite having tried to get away. Salvation wasn’t an option, he knew that well, but dammit if he wouldn’t go down trying. Compared to his iron will, this last fall had been nothing. It didn’t come close to shaking him. Not even a stab could've brought him down, and he had an ugly scar to prove it. So, a minute after Michael got comfortable beside him, Trevor jumped out of bed, restless and impatient.

Michael promptly sat up in warning.

“Don’t you even try to lunge for that knob.”

Trevor was on his tip-toes, ready to bounce, ready to make a swift exit despite Michael’s threatening tone and his steadfast resolution to keep Trevor inside. For what reason, anyway? He wouldn’t take the car and drive off a bridge or climb a post to grab the powerline. He wouldn’t go out and kill anyone, either. Probably. Why was Michael so preoccupied with keeping him within the confined walls of this motel room?

“Michael, I need some air. I need to not see your face for five minutes. I’m not going to run away, I’m not _you_. I’ll be back.” He was gambling his chances to leave, and if Michael’s face meant anything, it was that the odds weren’t in his favor. Still, Trevor would stand by his choice and fight for it until Michael got too fed up to argue anymore, as most of their bickering usually went.

“Fucking lay down and sleep for a good couple of hours. You won’t see my face then.”

“No, Michael, that’s not it. You don’t get it, and I don’t expect you to, but I just, I need to physically be away from you right now, just for a minute, just, it’s quick, I promise. It’s, it’s nothing. I’ll be right outside, I’ll, I don’t know, I’ll be in town, but I have to, I just, I have to.”

His brain was starting to fog up again and tangle his thoughts together, making it really hard to concentrate, but his feet were already walking him to the door, causing Michael to get up and block his path. Michael made to touch him, so he stepped back preemptively, out of arm’s reach.

“Why is it so important that you leave?” The tilt in Michael’s voice from vexation didn’t go by unnoticed as he stepped closer to Trevor anyway, brows knit in inquiry. Trevor groaned loudly, annoyed, stifled in this room, under Michael’s looming presence. He brought a hand to his forehead, starting to pace around the small square feet that Michael had left for him.

“Why is it so important that I _don’t_? Are you afraid that I’m not coming back, Michael? Because I’ve never done that, and I don’t cater to it the way you do. I literally just said that I wasn’t going to, so why the fuck are you getting any closer, and why are you so fucking worried? Calm down, fuck, just calm down.”

“I’m not scared of that, but I’m not sure I can trust you. Not with you acting so weird. You’ve never been like this, Trev. It’s concerning.”

“Yeah, well, whatever, Michael, I honestly, truly just can’t give a shit right now.”

Michael slit his eyes in suspicion, not at all convinced, and not backing down to let him through. He would have to try harder than that, but his forces were slowly being drained by the space around Michael, and he felt himself start to cave. He couldn’t put up much of a fight like this, not caged in and suffocating.

“Why is it so hard for you to just get out of my fucking face?”

“Why do you want me to?”

“Because…” Trevor faltered. He slumped back onto the wall nearest to himself, suddenly exhausted, suddenly at rock bottom. For the past two weeks, he had been trying, and trying hard not to let this whole play pretend bullshit get to his head, but it was exhausting. It was destroying him. It had demanded everything from him. All of his energy had been put into not falling in love with Michael’s affectionate glances, and Michael’s absent reaching for his hand, and Michael’s closeness, so strange, so amorous, so tender and so not him, but _exactly_ what Trevor had wanted from him since day one, and here it was now, for two whole weeks, only to inevitably be ripped away from him far too soon. It took all of him to not fall in love with the prospect of officially being with Michael Townley and he had absolutely failed at it. Playing pretend hurt, being lovingly close like this to Michael hurt, but he couldn’t get away. He wouldn’t get away. Even if Michael let him walk out that door, it would only be temporary, and too soon he’d be pulled back into the nightmare of his dreams.

He sighed, bested at last. “Because nothing. I don’t know, Michael.” He pushed himself off the wall and dragged his leaden feet across the carpet over to the bed, letting his body collapse face-first onto the mattress. His vision went pleasantly black, but his ears were trained to the sound of Michael’s footsteps walking to his own side of the bed, and rustling the linen on the spot beside Trevor.

They drove almost 400 miles up into Georgia at once on a mostly silent road trip that lasted a little over five hours. Michael took the wheel at first, and Trevor soon fell asleep on the passenger seat beside him, not offering much for conversation, even during the small intervals when he was actually awake. Michael didn’t ask to trade off, and Trevor didn’t offer to drive, so they remained in their assigned seats for the whole of it. Driving for so long without stopping, or really enjoying the trip only happened on a job, if they had to cross states for a bigger reason than Michael’s family, but Trevor didn’t actually mind getting back to Kentucky the next day and finally being done with all of this fairytale shit if Michael so wished, as he seemed to. He dozed off on the leaned seat with a clean conscience, being woken up hours later by a cold air draft from Michael’s open door. He closed it soon after leaving the car, though, but it had been enough to make Trevor shiver, since he still wasn’t wearing anything but the pair of shorts from the night before. Ignoring the cold, he stretched and got out of the car for some bearings.

They were at a gas station in a small town without much of anybody on the streets, only sporadic cars driving past every once in a while, roaring distant sounds in the middle of the afternoon. Trevor hugged himself and tracked into the convenience store, where Michael was speaking to the cashier, surely for gas, but that didn’t catch his attention as much as a big, pink donut on display did. He picked it up at once, and filled a styrofoam cup to the brim with hot chocolate from the machine next to it, not forgetting the lid, before going up to the counter. Michael was already outside by then, Trevor could see him through the glass doors, pumping gas, so he placed his lunch in front of the cashier and went through the few pockets of these beach shorts for paper money. Surprisingly, he found a couple of bills, probably leftover from last night’s 7-Eleven, and placed them on the counter before picking up two chocolate bars and a pack of Luckies. The man rung him up, gave him a plastic bag, and he left back for the car, where Michael was just about done with the pump. He got in, put the hot chocolate in the cup holder between their seats, tossed the plastic bag at his feet and waited for Michael while having a mostly dry but very sugary donut.

Michael didn’t spare him a glance, only buckled his seatbelt and started up the car. He noticed the cup in the console when shifting into drive, and took a sip from it as if it were his while pulling back onto the street. Trevor didn’t mind that at all, or the fact that Michael drunk most of it while he only had a gulp, because object possession had never really been a thing between the two of them. They cruised through town for a few minutes, Michael surely looking for a motel while having his hot chocolate, and Trevor simply enjoying the slow drive for what felt like the first time in forever. The town soon started to look familiar, and the more Michael drove around, the more he started to think that they had been here before, probably on the way to Tampa over a week ago. He recognized some of the houses, the elementary school, and definitely that Wendy’s parking lot where Michael had rubbed him off once. That had been a good one. They cruised through neighborhoods until going right back to the same motel that they had stayed at earlier, which felt cathartic, in away. He wondered if the owner would remember them.

Without a word, Michael parked and left for the front desk, taking the empty styrofoam cup along with him, but Trevor decided not to follow. His bones were starting to freeze under his skin, despite how warm the car was, so he got out and opened the backseat door directly behind himself to get changed. He honestly didn’t care who watched him from their motel windows; most of the American population had already seen his naked ass anyway. His new jeans were back on with his old boots, a shirt and a jacket, and he was surprised to find his beach towel thrown in the middle of his bag with the rest of his, and some of Michael’s, stuff. He picked it up and brought it to his face, experimentally, to know if it still smelled of sand and the old house that Michael had rented. It didn’t, it just smelled like the rest of his clothes, but it brought back good memories, a few of the best that they had made together so far, so he hung it around his neck before zipping the messenger back up. It wasn’t actually a cotton towel, though, it was really one of those sarongs that women tied around themselves over their bikinis, but he had used it as a towel because it looked nicer than all of the actual towels that they had seen for sale. Michael, of course, had gotten a fucking pestemal.

Michael showed up soon thereafter, without the empty cup and instead with keys in hand. Trevor slung the strap of the messenger bag over a shoulder and got up to follow him to their room. Michael reached an open palm for him to take, which he didn’t think would be something to happen after the Tampa heist, or Michael’s generally cold stance the whole day, or really ever again, so he grabbed the hand with a leaping heart and a skip to his step and accompanied his friend up the stairs. It was cheap and dumb but he couldn’t help the smile on his face all the while.

“Are you wearing the sarong around your neck?” Michael asked him around a grin while unlocking their room and pushing the door open. Trevor walked past him, entering first.

“Yes, Michael, it’s called couture. If you had any you’d understand.” He dropped the messenger by the foot of the bed and sat promptly down, watching as Michael placed the duffel beside him, shaking his head. He looked good smiling, but then again Michael looked good always.

“I thought you just lost your scarf.” Michael playfully grinned at him, receiving an eye roll in response, and walked back over to the door, arm outstretched. “Come on, I’m starving. Let’s eat something.”

“Are we going to Wendy’s again?” Trevor hopped over to him and took his hand, following him outside. Michael locked the door behind them.

“Probably not after what happened in the parking lot.” He almost sounded mournful and Trevor couldn’t help but bark out a loud laugh. It only helped to make Michael look sheepish, shoving him lightly on the shoulder.

“It’s not my fault you’re such an animal, Michael Townley.”

“Fuck off, you loved it.”

“Of course I did.”

“Of _course_ you did.”

“So am I just supposed to ignore all of that earlier?”

At this, Michael gave him a look, cocking an eyebrow up to complement it as they climbed down the stairs and crossed over to the sidewalk together. Trevor met with his blue eyes for a second longer, as if urging him on to answer because Michael knew what he meant. Surely he did, but Michael liked to play pretend, so instead of answering, he only shrugged vaguely, and dumbly, pushing Trevor to elaborate. He rolled his eyes.

“You know, the whole five hours straight locked in that car, without a word, without a look, without anything. You being really moody and quiet and then suddenly you’re a chatterbox again as if nothing happened. Are you okay in the head, M? Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t just hallucinate the trip over.”

Michael frowned, but there was some playfulness to it, meaning that he didn’t think this was worth stressing over, or really serious. By all means, it should piss Trevor off, but it somehow soothed him instead, so maybe Michael’s behavior had been read wrong, and he hadn’t been feeling like that at all. Maybe Trevor was just wrong. He felt some of the weight lift from his shoulders as Michael explained himself.

“No, I wasn’t moody, the radio just wasn’t on and I didn’t feel like listening to it anyway. I was just, you know, thinking. Guess I got lost in my own head.” He shrugged again, loosely this time, and turned to look out at the street, at the few passing cars and the selected people walking down the sidewalk across from them. Trevor didn’t fully believe him, but he wouldn’t contest Michael’s reverie, because he only seemed to be having more of those recently. He just wasn’t sure if that meant anything good, and nothing would be more reassuring than hearing the answer from Michael himself.

“What were you thinking about that lasted a whooping five hours?”

Michael took a heartbeat too long to reply. “Nothing important.”

“Was it Amanda? The kids?”

“Of course not, they’re important. I would’ve said so if it was them.”

“What was it, then?”

“Nothing, Trevor. It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.”

“It was…” Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. Trevor had been staring hard at the side of his face for a minute now, and Michael was sure to have noticed, he just had chosen not to meet with his eyes. Which was fine, really. Not Trevor’s favorite, but not the end of the world, either. Michael glanced down at the stones of the sidewalk, his voice small. “I’m going to miss you, is all.”

“What?”

“You heard me, asshole.”

“Are you planning to die on me or something? We’ve been doing this for years, Michael. You can walk out of your pretty little picket fence house and come meet me literally anytime.” He just never did. Not soon enough, anyway, always taking a month, or multiple months to want to see Trevor’s face again. He swallowed that last bit, though, keeping it to himself. It wouldn’t be very comforting to throw this sort of truth in Michael’s face now, despite how much it bothered him, how much it made him feel unimportant. Objectified, just another convenience. The shamed half of Michael’s heart, if half at all. “You were lucky I was still in the state this time around but even if I wasn’t you could’ve just taken a plane ride over or something and we would’ve hung out anyway. You’re fucking rich, man, do whatever. What are you mulling about? I can visit you tomorrow.”

“We’ll be driving tomorrow.”

“The day after, then. Whatever. I bet the kids miss me.”

Michael cracked a small smile on his face, finally turning around to lock their eyes, his blue ones shiny and bright despite how sad they looked. The sight pained Trevor straight through the heart.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, T. Nevermind.”

Michael shook his head, not convinced, his flat voice giving him away and worsening Trevor’s state. Blue eyes cast down at their intertwined hands, so casual and yet such a big statement, such a big thing for them, and Trevor immediately understood what Michael meant. He’d miss _this_ , their closeness, their intimacy, without having to hide or worry. He’d miss being able to openly be with each other, and Trevor would miss it, too. He had worked through two weeks to be able to get over it, and not allow himself to let this completely destroy him, even though it had taken all of himself to do it, and it still didn’t very well work, he still had more time to deal with it than Michael. He had trained himself since the beginning, while Michael lived in a world of fantasy. Well, now the fantasy was crumbling and Michael wasn’t ready to leave. Trevor understood that. He had been crushed by it, too. He squeezed Michael’s hand as they walked to the closest Denny’s in sight.

That night, Michael was different. When he usually were rough with his hands and hard with his kissing, this time he was soft, and gentle, and loving. It was such a strange change to him, and to what they were used to, that Trevor reeled. At first, he wasn’t sure why Michael was kissing him so tenderly while pushing him down, and at one point he even wondered if they would actually have sex at all, because Michael wasn’t completely ripping his lips open or pinning him into the mattress. Instead, he was kissing him softly and laying comfortably above him. His cock almost lost interest at the wrong realization that they would only make out and fall asleep, but then Michael had a hand under his shirt, and soft lips on his neck, rounded teeth tugging on his skin, so maybe he hadn’t been wrong at all, and this was just… Different. A change of pace to their usual roughness. Trevor wasn’t completely convinced yet, but he’d go along with it, if only out of sheer curiosity, so he let Michael kiss him, and touch him, as tender as he wanted, and take his time undressing the two of them before hooking Trevor’s legs around himself.

Once they were in rhythm and their bodies fit perfectly together, Trevor thought that the whole playing nice was done, and Michael would go back to ravaging and fucking over caressing and kissing. He thought that sex couldn’t be much different than that, until he was thoroughly proved to be wrong. If he dared call this anything other than love-making, then he’d just be turning a blind eye to the whole of it. Michael kissed him and held him and was so gentle, made him feel so warmly, so coddled and cared for that it became overwhelming. There was a compression to Trevor’s chest at the looks that Michael was giving him, so sweet, so amorous, as if Michael had just suddenly fallen in love with him, as if Michael wouldn’t roll over after they were done and fall dead asleep within the minute and forget all about it in the morning. As if Michael had never fucked him raw in the backseat of someone’s car in a McDonald’s parking lot. As if they were above sucking each other off in the shower of a dirty motel room. It made Trevor sick, the sheer amount of burning passion in Michael’s eyes, to the point that he couldn’t bear looking at them, and had to turn his face away. Michael took that as an opportunity to kiss his cheek, and it was terrible, it was awful, it made Trevor feel so _nice_ , so _loved,_ it made his heart grow so big, so big that he knew, for sure, to be in love with Michael Townley. He had always known, and this was the confirmation that he didn’t really need, and it teared him up, it filled his chest, and made him resent the end of the fairytale.

After Michael rolled off of him, he hugged himself. His heart was beating fast, but not for the same reason as Michael’s, for something mushier. Something worrying, deeply worrying, intensely crippling that reassured his utter dependence to this man. Trevor had a hard time breathing, his arms tightening around his own chest as he heaved, only stopping when Michael rested a palm over his elbow. It caused his cheeks to burn, but he didn’t know why. Michael ran a thumb over his skin, already so drowsy next to him, and that, for some reason, calmed him down. He breathed in, truly breathed in, and his heart slowly began to resume normalcy. Michael just laid beside him, barely conscious, as he easily drifted off to sleep.

There were about seven hours of driving left to go, and Michael seemed to be speeding to cover all of them in the same day, desperate to get home, apparently. They stopped a few times for gas and bathroom breaks, but overall drove more than anything else, Michael behind the wheel the whole time, because Trevor refused to take it. He’d swerve right into the first truck in sight if it were up to him, so Michael ended up not resigning his seat, only turning up the radio or flicking it off entirely depending on his mood, which changed every few hours. Trevor leaned his seat back and slept for a good few hours, but the closer they got to the heart of Kentucky, the more restless and fidgety his body became. His legs bounced, his eyes zipped everywhere, both out his window and through the windshield, and his hands just needed something to do, so they grabbed the plastic bag from between his feet and pulled out the pack of cigarettes that he had bought the day before. He cracked open a window before lighting it up and sucked in the chemicals as if his life depended on it. Michael didn’t seem to mind, only cranked up the radio as Sweet Dreams began playing, and sung loudly to it. Trevor sunk into his seat.

They took the exit leading to a town an hour away from their destination, which felt strange to Trevor, but he didn’t question it as Michael drove past two gas stations and further into the city. He only decided to say something when, instead of pulling up to a diner or a Walmart, Michael parked in front of a Holiday Inn, leaving the car before Trevor could open his big mouth. He followed Michael right outside and tossed the lit cigarette on the concrete below them.

“What the fuck?” He pointed at the hotel’s entrance with an open palm, watching Michael dip into the backseat to pick up his duffel bag and miss Trevor’s frown. “Michael, what are we doing here? We’re just forty-five miles from your family.” He spoke loud enough for anyone in a thirty feet radius to hear, knowing full well that this was the sort of thing that annoyed Michael the most, public attention drawn to them, but Michael only slung the duffel over his back and closed the car door with a shrug. Trevor felt demoralized.

“I’m tired, T. Been driving for a while, and your lazy ass ain’t helping, so we’re gonna stay the night.” Michael spoke in a matter-of-fact tone that pissed Trevor off, walking toward the double doors without waiting for him, so Trevor did quick work of picking up his messenger bag and following Michael inside.

“What’s the catch?” He asked the moment that he fell in step with Michael, the two of them striding over to the front desk. Michael didn’t bother glancing at him to answer.

“There’s no catch, T. I’m goddamn tired is all.”

He went right ahead to book them a room, so Trevor waited for his turn to speak again. The right time for that seemed to be after Michael had the keycards and they were far enough away from the staff, absently holding hands to the elevators. “Do you want me to drive? I’ll drive.” And he really would, too. Michael had looked so desperate to get home soon that, if this was really the case, then Trevor would help out for once, despite himself and everything else, but Michael shook his head and threw his help out the window without consideration. In all honesty, he wasn’t even offended.

“No, it’s fine. We’re already here. I really just want dinner and a bed.”

“You could have that at home.”

“God, Trevor, look.” Michael sighed deeply and ran a hand down his face. It seemed appropriate that they stopped walking to wait for the elevator just as he did that. “Maybe I just want a few more hours with you, alright? Maybe when I saw how close we already were to Lexington I panicked and took the first exit in sight. Maybe Sweet Dreams had some collateral damage that I don’t know about. Can you, like, not fight me for once?”

Trevor grinned, and then laughed. Hearing those kind of words from Michael was really flattering, and it reassured him that Michael wasn’t all that committed, or excited, about getting home early as he led on to be. But then again, this was Michael. When was he ever committed to anything that wasn’t robbing and fleeing? He couldn’t even commit to the damn ring on his finger.

“Man, Michael, what’s with all the question dodging and half-assed lying? You’re better than that. Just come right out and say that you wanna fuck me one last time before we go. No shame in that, friend. Follow your heart, or whatever toxic substance that replaced it a long time ago.”

Michael rolled his eyes, but the sly smile on his face was what did it for Trevor. “Real clever, T. Real clever.”

Their room was above all the motels that they usually stayed in, regarding tidiness and how many people had jizzed on the bed linen in the last twenty-four hours, but it wasn’t five-stars, either, so Trevor didn’t really find a reason to hate it. There was no balcony, and the view out the window was total shit, as they mostly were, and even if it wasn’t by a noisy interstate, at least it didn’t overlook a beach, and the quilt over the bed wasn’t worth hundreds of dollars. He felt like a true member of the middle class walking in. Michael dropped his duffel and went straight over to the window, to open it up, not for the view, but for fresh air. He was minutes from pulling out a cigarette, Trevor knew, so he threw his own bag to the floor and did a U-turn back over to the door.

Michael called for him before he even touched the knob.

“Are we playing this fucking game again, huh?”

He sounded pissed, so Trevor grinned and turned around to direct the words at him.

“Relax, Mikey, I’m just getting us some beer.”

He came back a few minutes later, true to his word, carrying a pack that turned more heads in the hotel lobby than it should have. Michael was sitting at the small table by the window twisting up a joint when he walked in.

“That leftovers from the beach?” He asked while closing the door and dumping the beer on the bed. Michael glanced up at him before nodding, his focus trained down on the thin paper before himself. He looked kind of cute doing it, for some reason, so Trevor sat down on the mattress, opened a bottle and watched him work without saying much else. He wasn’t sure how Michael did it, but in a minute he looked really good, smoking hot, and in the very next he was just adorable, sitting at a tiny table and focused on his hands. Trevor grinned, gulping his beer down without giving it much thought, his heart strangely fluttery in the moment but probably just from the alcohol.

“Trev, c’mere.” Michael wasn’t done yet, but he paused for a moment and looked up at Trevor, emphasizing his words with a hand. By then, Trevor had already lost his jacket and shirt and was burning through his second bottle, but still got up and went over to him, like second nature at this point, to do as Michael asked. He stood by his side, absently watching Michael wrap an arm around the back of his hips and pull him closer, his blue, blue eyes cast up to meet him. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for what left Michael’s parted lips right then.

“You know I love you, right?”

It was spoken in such a soft, yet firm, tone that it took him completely by surprise. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and he blinked, stupidly, wordlessly, down at Michael’s bright eyes, so gentle on him. Michael didn’t say anything else, just watched Trevor’s face, which surely was in shock, probably not expecting a reply from Trevor, not really, but staying quiet all the same. When he noticed that Trevor wasn’t actually going to say a thing, he smiled, pulled his arm back and resumed rolling the joint. He brought it up to his lips to lick it, finishing it up and twisting the tip all the while Trevor remained petrified beside him.

“Are you…” Trevor faltered. Was Michael serious? Did he mean that? Trevor didn’t know how to feel about it. Sure, of course he was special to Michael, and Michael was special to him, but they had never said something like this, not out loud, not to each other. After ten years, he didn’t understand why Michael took so long to say it, if it was true at all, and what it even meant to Michael, because he had a wife, and children, and if he loved Trevor, then, well. Well. Did he love Amanda, too? Trevor swallowed hard, dropping a hand on Michael’s shoulder for his attention. Michael looked up at him again, with the joint stuck between his lips.

“Are you… Uh, are you going to share that?” His heart did a leap for his throat as he watched Michael nod and get up to step closer to the window. He followed absently, knocking back the rest of his beer in one go to get rid of it.

“Yeah, I made this too packed for one person.” Michael spoke around the joint as he lit it, and drew in deep a few times to get the cherry burning. He passed it over to Trevor afterwards, and they let silence fall between them for a while.

He never thought that he’d hear it from Michael. His mind was reeling from it still, getting foggier and foggier but holding onto those few words, something that surely must’ve been fictional, because there was no way Michael actually loved him. If he did, he would’ve floored the gas pedal on his wedding day. If he did, he wouldn’t hide his affection for Trevor from the world. If he did, then what the Hell was Amanda doing in the picture? Was she collateral damage? Oh. Oh, no, was _Trevor_ collateral damage? Maybe he was the one who Michael had been trying to keep out all this time. Michael had chosen Amanda over him a long time ago, and tried to keep him away from his marriage, given Michael didn’t try very hard, and Trevor simply refused to go, and instead wormed his way into Michael’s heart, ruining a whole family and everything that Michael had been trying to build for himself. Or, not entirely. He and Michael had history. More history than he would ever have with Amanda, no matter how many children she popped out. She came way later to make a mess of things, and if the Townley family had been ruined, well, that had Michael written all over it. Trevor wasn’t the reason of his unfaithfulness, because it was no secret that Michael slept with hookers outside of his marriage during every other job, and in retaliation Amanda had her own share of affairs in town while her husband was away. That family was swimming in poison and Trevor felt bad for the children.

“Finish it off.” Michael said, and turned to walk over to the bed. Trevor did so, tossing the filter out the window right after and sliding it back closed. Michael undressed and got into bed without saying much else, but those words still reverberated around Trevor’s skull, no matter how misty and numb it was, his heart still felt them, and was finally coming around to take them in and let them double, triple, quadruple its size. It felt good, it felt really great to know that Michael loved him despite everything. It made him feel important, cared for, and it didn’t take a missed bullet to say so. He kicked his pants off and joined Michael under the covers, coming up to snuggle him, his face buried on the crook of his neck as his arms squeezed him. Michael squeezed him back, and Trevor could just imagine the smile on his face.

In the following day, they had breakfast, but something came up that kept them in town until lunch, and one thing led to another, because Michael was very obviously stalling for time, so they stayed until dinner, which Michael made it to be longer than it ever needed to, before finally starting up the car to go home. It was hilarious, all the ways that Michael found to keep them from leaving all day, his ridiculous ideas that confused Trevor at first, but then entertained him for the rest of it. He could appreciate that, how silly they looked just for a few more hours together, but it all had to end sooner or later, so they chose later, and drove back to Lexington far past midnight. Michael didn’t turn on the radio, and instead asked Trevor where he would be for the next few weeks, just in case. Just to know. Trevor took a second to think about his answer, because he hadn’t actually planned anything. He left as he pleased and migrated around at leisure, so he couldn’t well give Michael an answer, since he didn’t know, either. Michael didn’t seem to like that very much, from the look on his face, but he decided not to mention it, and comment on something else instead.

“Well, you better not forget to be around North Yankton in a couple of months or Lester’s going to track you down and skin you alive.” Despite the laughter in Michael’s speech, there was an edge to his tone that betrayed the carefree façade which he was trying to display. He seemed nervous for whatever reason, but Trevor barely paid that any mind, because a bigger concern was that he didn’t catch the movie reference, and if there was none, then he really just didn’t know what the Hell Michael was talking about.

“Huh? Why would I be there?”

“For the heist in Ludendorff. Did Lester not tell you about it?”

Oh, right. He barely remembered that conversation, since it happened a good while ago, but Lester had mentioned some big job in North Yankton that he absolutely couldn’t miss, told him all about it once while he smoked on the couch, slipping in and out of it from the meth, and ever since then it had just been radio silence from Lester Crest. The whole thing had escaped Trevor’s brain not much later through the many holes it surely had.

“He did, yeah, but it was some time ago already. He didn’t get back to me since.”

“Well, I talked to him recently, while he was deciding the dates, and he said that it’s almost good to go, so he should be calling you soon. Maybe next week.” So that was when he would be seeing Michael again, in a couple of months. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t already looking forward to it, but the forced separation still left a bitter taste behind that he despised. In a different time, they would’ve been spending these next two months doing much of the same that they had just done for the last couple of weeks, but that wasn’t a valid reality anymore. It hadn’t been for a while. Trevor couldn’t help but still be bitter about it, though, as he probably always would.

Michael dropped him off in front of a bar in downtown Lexington, but only at his request. What Michael really wanted to do was to drop him at a hotel, where it’d be safe to spend the night, but Trevor insisted that he be dropped back where he had been picked up, so Michael complied. After a pretty thorough arguing, but still he complied. Trevor hopped out and took his messenger bag with him, closing the passenger door afterwards. The window had been rolled down, so he bent over a tad bit to see Michael’s face, how torn he looked about it. How much his entire body was against their parting. Trevor smiled, meeting with his eyes.

“I love you, too, Michael.”

He watched as Michael’s eyes softened and a small smile curved his lips upwards, then backed away from the car and let Michael drive off to his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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